


Three Roles That Didn't Last, And The One That Did

by screamingsongbird16



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-05-31 14:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15121151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingsongbird16/pseuds/screamingsongbird16
Summary: Glimpses into three roles Hatano played, that eventually ended . . . and the one role that actually lasted. (Originally published in the Joker Game fanzine: Double Agent 2)





	1. Koumaru Ken

 

 

            “Hatano” was a name he got by chance.  By randomly sitting at the right seat at his spy training orientation.  “Koumaru Ken” was a name he got by design.  The surname “Koumaru” was an illustrious one, or so his father always told him.  They were an old family.  Once an important family.  Arms masters to shoguns and emperors.  It was a name to be proud of.  To introduce himself as a Koumaru was to introduce himself as a warrior.  “Ken,” on the other hand . . . . how he came by that name was a much more personal story.  One that he only heard once, on one of those rare occasions when his father was nostalgic-drunk rather than angry-drunk.  “Your mother wanted something Americans could pronounce easily.  If her father ever visited, she didn’t want him struggling with your name.”

            He was eight at that time, and smarter than the average kid his age, and not just because he’d started school a few years early.  It was his first time realizing that he wasn’t fully Japanese.  He was half.  Which meant he was half something else.  It jolted him.  The idea that he wasn’t who or what he’d thought he was.  It made him feel like he’d been living a lie.

            Koumaru Ken wanted the truth.  About who he really was, what that other half was, but he knew better than to try to get it from his father.  It was kind of funny that this was what made him feel like he’d been living a lie, when all his life he’d been putting on a much more intentional act.  Pretending everything was okay, that his father was okay, and life was okay, when there were so many nights that he could hardly sleep for the pain.  Pain from his training.  Pain from his father’s anger.  He did what he could to keep anymore than was necessary from being inflicted on him, and he knew, had always known, that any mentions of his mother were the utmost taboo.  So Koumaru Ken had to find out who she was in other ways.

            The attic was where he found his truth.  In seven dusty boxes was all that was left of her in this world.  Photographs and clothing, sheet music and books . . . and letters written in English, which Koumaru Ken did not speak or read.  So he learned.  It took months, but he was exceptionally bright, and more motivated about this than he’d ever been before about anything in his life.  Uncovering the secret of who this woman was, whose death had so torn his father’s world apart . . . it became his mission. 

            And her death had torn his father’s world apart.  At first, he knew that it might just be wishful thinking, that his father had ever been anything but the cold, hard taskmaster, who drank too much and broke his bones in the name of training, but over the course of his mission, he realized that his father had once been a very different man.  It was in their letters.  He learned that his father had learned English for her, and defied his father for her, and she had done the same for him. 

            He wondered what his mother would think if she could see what his father had become . . . and he worried that might be what he would one day become.  A man like his father.  Someone who couldn’t deal with loss.  Someone who lost himself, and tried to find the missing pieces in alcohol and rage, so mad at the world that he couldn’t care about anyone anymore, not really.  Not even someone who he was supposed to love.  Someone who loved him because he was all they had.

            Koumaru Ken was nine when he swore that he would never end up like that.  No matter what it took, no matter what he had to do.  He’d become something else instead.

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: This fic was originally published in the free Joker Game fanzine: Double Agent 2 at: <http://i-dedicate-this-kill-to-the-fans.tumblr.com/post/175376116359/double-agent-2-a-joker-game-fanzine-hi-everyone>.  For those who don't like waiting, the full version of this fic can be read there now, along with another fic I've written, set in the aLIvE-verse.  (Fair warning, my other fic is a heart breaker, and is accompanied by equally feel-shattering artwork)  The zine is also full of other Joker Game fics, artwork, and articles about topics that are of interest to the Joker Game fandom, like poisons and codes, so please check it out if you have the chance.  :)

 


	2. Kaji Yukiko

 

            Kaji Yukiko was the first real undercover role Hatano got.  It was after they passed their final test to become official D-Agency spies, but before Lt. Colonel Yuuki started sending them out across the world.  He still had much to teach them, but their lessons had become more about learning by doing.  It worked out, since counterintelligence went hand in hand with gathering intelligence.  Learning how to find intel leaks within their own military and government also taught them how to create intel leaks in foreign militaries and governments.  So Yuuki had them get creative and come up with ways to glean information, and roles that would let them overhear secrets, then let them test the best ones out.

            Hatano’s traditional upbringing came in handy here.  There were some things that couldn’t be picked up on the fly, no matter how smart, dexterous, or capable you were.  Or things that could be faked in front of people who didn’t know better, but that would cause your whole cover to unravel if you tried in front of more educated people.  The tea ceremony was one of those things, and while, during their training, they did have a master come in and give them lessons, it wasn’t the kind of thing you could become good at in a short amount of time.  Like playing an instrument or learning to dance, it took time to master.  Most of Hatano’s peers could only perform it well enough to impress foreign tourists.  A few could perform it passably enough for the clientele of moderately priced inns and restaurants.  Hatano, however, had learned it along with his family’s style of martial arts.  His performance of it was on par with any geisha’s, or ryokan hostess’s.  If he had to, he was confident he could pass as the nation’s youngest tea master.  If he performed it as a boy, at least.  But for the purposes of being a spy, that talent was much easier to utilize dressed in drag and made up like a perfect little doll. 

            Using those skills, and the name Kaji Yukiko, Hatano scored himself a job at the Wisteria Club.  That joint was top class, member’s only exclusive, and the kind of place that oozed elegance, charm, and traditional aesthetics.  The military’s top brass and the country’s wealthiest old money families were the only ones who could really afford to frequent it.  Hatano felt a surge of glee when he, as Kaji Yukiko, got the job, though his throat inexplicably felt a little tight when Yuuki-san smiled almost proudly at him upon getting the news.  He set Hatano up with a temporary residence to help complete the character.

            Hatano continued to live at D-Agency, but maintained Kaji Yukiko’s apartment, just in case any too-curious coworkers or overzealous clients ever backtracked her to her home.  It was also from that apartment that he left for work each afternoon, and always after getting help from one of the others, getting dressed and made up for work.  It was impossible to tie his kimono’s obi by himself, and the others were faster at putting on his makeup than he was at putting it on himself.  Make no mistake, he could do his own makeup, and do it well.  His classes had assured that.  But if the others could do it faster and had to be there to help him get dressed anyway, he was happy to let them do it for him.

            Time was something that mattered very much to him when he had to split his time between being Hatano and Kaji Yukiko.  Hatano was allowed to sleep as much as he deemed necessary, but when he awoke, he had a full plate of lessons and training exercises to complete.  Kaji Yukiko had to work six nights a week, from four in the afternoon, until two in the morning.  Add in the hour it took to get ready for work, and commuting time, and that role ate up nearly half the week. 

            Thankfully, it was never meant to be permanent.  Yuuki-san made it clear from the beginning, that though he had gotten a very good in for them at the Wisteria Club, he had bigger plans for Hatano.  Eventually, he would be assigned a mission of greater importance.  Something that Yuuki would only entrust to someone he knew was reliable and loyal to him.  So from the onset, Kaji Yukiko wasn’t just gathering intel and reporting back to Lt. Colonel Yuuki.  “She” was also searching for assets to cultivate.  Before that role came to an end, Kaji Yukiko found two. 

            Another waitress’s family was up to their eyeballs in debt, thanks to her father’s gambling addiction.  Money, Yuuki-san had stressed to them, was one of the easiest motivations to manipulate.

            The other was the dishwasher.  He was a young man with an exemption from military service for a bad leg . . . except there was nothing wrong with that leg.  Hatano knew movement.  He knew balance and how one compensated for injuries.  Watching through Kaji Yukiko’s eyes, he knew a fraud when he saw one.  Normally, he wouldn’t have cared, but when he made the discovery that at his station, the dishwasher could hear everything in the Wisteria Club’s most secluded private room . . . Well.

            Kaji Yukiko didn’t even need to get her hands dirty.  Relaying the intel to Yuuki-san was all it took.  Beautiful, smooth talking Miyoshi was assigned to the waitress.  He had her eating out of the palm of his hand in all of two minutes.  Big, intimidating Fukumoto took the dishwasher.  Kaji Yukiko remained in place for some weeks afterward, just to make sure everything went smoothly.  Then, cover still intact, she quietly bowed out.

 


	3. Shimano Ryousuke

            Shimano Ryousuke was fun, make no mistake, but being him felt . . . weird.  Because when he wasn’t passing along intel and arranging clandestine meetings, Shimano Ryousuke’s life was . . . normal.  Or at least what Hatano thought was normal for a foreign exchange student.  He went to university classes.  His professors were pleased with his work.  Other people liked him well enough.  Fellow students often invited him to study groups and nightly outings.  His fellow boarding house residents always seemed happy to see him.  It was very unlike his middle and high school education, in his small hometown, where people avoided him, guiltily averting their eyes from his bruises and black eyes.  There were times that the boy who’d once been Koumaru Ken wondered if this was how his life would have been if his mother hadn’t died.  If it had been . . . he knew he wouldn’t have left it.  Wouldn’t have thrown away his name, and past, and signed up to become a spy.

            Hatano never let himself forget that Shimano Ryousuke was only a role . . . at least not until he forgot everything altogether, but that was another story.  He reminded himself every day that this role would not last.  Eventually he would be called home to D-Agency.  Until then he had a job to do . . . but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun in the meantime.  He had to be convincing in his role as Shimano Ryousuke, foreign exchange student, and studying abroad was supposed to be an adventure.

            So he stayed up too late more nights than he didn’t, and got addicted to coffee for the caffeine buzz.  He gambled a bit, and cheated to win, but it wasn’t the same as a good match of Joker Game.  He flirted around, but never let things get too serious.  He learned to cook, at first because he was homesick for Japanese food and worried about putting on too much weight from eating only rich French food, but after his landlord’s mother hijacked his cooking sessions and turned them into French cooking lessons, he kept at it because it was kind of nice having a self-appointed grandmother.

            He went to a great many tourist sites: the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Notre Dame . . . and he bought a bunch of cheesy souvenirs, just because.  He had promised to bring back something for Jitsui.  The others, he had made no promises to, knew they weren’t expecting anything, since it really wasn’t practical to expect their fellow spies to bring them souvenirs from every mission, or even any mission . . . but he had things set aside for them anyway.  Because he felt like it.  Because he’d never had people he wanted to buy things for before, and yes, he knew they were likely to make fun of him if he was serious and sentimental about this, so he had planned out exactly what he would say to each of them when he gave them their gift.  If he made it seem kind of like a joke he calculated that he could get off without being teased, and hopefully, though they wouldn’t say it or let onto it, they would realize that their souvenirs were meant to be a gesture of affection.

            In the end, though, that was a moot point.  All his belongings and the role of Shimano Ryousuke were left behind after the amnesia incident, when Yuuki-san came to France to personally collect Hatano and bring him home.

 


	4. Hatano

            Hatano paused when he reached the front gate and took a moment to admire his home.  It was an old farmhouse, once decrepit and overgrown, but now fully restored.  He’d been the one to start the restoration process.  He’d just wanted the place to be comfortably livable, with a sound roof, solid floors, electricity, and running water.  Then the other spies had moved in and taken repairs and restoration above and beyond what he’d planned.  Now the interior was beautiful, with polished hardwood floors, bright new wallpaper, and comfortable, tasteful furnishings, while the exterior of the farmhouse was the envy of the neighborhood . . . or at least it would have been if they were in a neighborhood, or had any neighbors so to speak of.  Tucked into the Kona hillside, in the middle of a coffee farm surrounded by untamed forest, they were pretty isolated.  Still, their house was beautiful, painted robin’s egg blue, with white trimming and a wrap around porch.  Only one detail seemed out of place, but that was what really made it seem like home.  An old, slightly scorched wooden sign hung beside the front door, with the words, “Greater East Asia Culture Society,” painted on it in Japanese kanji.  That had been Hatano’s sole contribution to fixing up the house’s exterior.

            He let himself in through the gate and walked slowly up to the porch steps.  Then he sat down on the bottom one, letting his suitcase tip carelessly over on the ground as he leaned against the rail.  The box of malasadas he’d picked up on the way here, he set more carefully on the step beside him.  Suddenly he just felt so drained.

            He always did this.  Hesitated before coming here.  Before coming home.  Then when he actually made it inside, he had a tendency to sleep for twenty-four hours straight.  Sometimes longer.  He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that worried the others a little.  In his defense, getting to Hawaii was very tiring.  It meant either a long flight, or a long boat ride, and that was after the work he did before setting off for home.  Hunting down escaped Nazis and other war criminals took a combination of the skills he’d learned as a spy, the skills he’d learned during the war, detective work, which he’d picked up on the fly, and a whole lot of legwork.  This wouldn’t be the first time they’d come out of the house and found him asleep on the front porch. 

            A hand settled on top of his head and startled Hatano, jolting him out of his near-sleep state.  He looked blearily up at the one who’d found him, then gave a sheepish smile.  “Hi Yuuki-san.”

            Yuuki was remarkably stealthy since giving up his fake limp.  Sometimes he still took the cane with him when he left the house, but only as an accessory.  He sat down beside Hatano now, movements smooth and easy, which made Hatano happy to see, for some reason.  Probably because he was used to Yuuki’s movements looking stiff and pained, even though he knew that had always been an act. 

            Yuuki had a mug of coffee balanced in his prosthetic hand, and another in the crook of his arm.  He used his real hand to remove the cup from his fake hand, and held it out to Hatano.

            Hatano accepted it and took a sip, then smiled into his cup.  Kona coffee with lots of sugar and lots of cream.  Just the way he liked it.  “Malasada?” he offered to Yuuki, opening the box of fried pastries.

            Yuuki-san accepted one.  Hatano helped himself too.

            “You saw me walking up?” he asked after a few minutes spent eating and drinking in silence.

            “From the kitchen window,” Yuuki confirmed. 

            “And I looked like I needed coffee even then?”

            “Not then, no.”

            “So you just wanted to give me coffee?” Hatano asked cheekily.

            Yuuki raised an eyebrow.

            “What’s that look for?”

            “I was just thinking that comment was very . . . you.”

            Hatano opened his mouth to respond . . . but ended up gaping like a fish.

            That comment had rolled off his tongue so naturally.  It was cheeky, and light hearted, and exactly the kind of thing Hatano was known for saying.  He didn’t know why, just then, it hit him, that it wasn’t always the kind of thing he would have said.  Or could have said.  Koumaru Ken would never have dared make a remark like that to the man who’d given him his name.  That was the sort of thing that would have been disrespectful, and not allowed . . . and his father would never have brought him coffee in the first place.

            It had been a long time since he’d thought about Koumaru Ken.  But now that he did, his mind couldn’t help but zero in on all the differences between that boy he used to be, and who he was now . . . and it felt really weird.  Because he definitely was not that person anymore.  It was almost like Koumaru Ken was only a role he had played, for a time, then cast off never to return to, like Kaji Yukiko, Namika Sho, and a dozen or so others.  Which was funny, because originally, Hatano had started off as a role played by Koumaru Ken.

            When he’d built that personality, he’d made Hatano everything he wanted to be.  Confident and cheeky, snarky and solid, the kind of person who could stand strong in the face of anything, who feared no one.  Who stood up for himself and left those who went against him, or at least their pride, in ruins.

            It had been hard for an abused boy who’d felt powerless his whole life to suddenly take on a role like that, but he hadn’t backed down.  He’d pretended that it hadn’t gotten to him when bigger, older trainees tried to tear him down, and eventually it had stopped getting to him.  He pretended that he belonged beside Jitsui, and Miyoshi, and all the other trainees that Miyoshi had brought together as the useful ones who would be there until the end, and then one day, even before Yuuki-san made it official, he realized that he did belong there, with them.  People truly did become what they pretended to be.  Hatano had known that for awhile.  He was glad now, that he had chosen so well, about who he pretended to be.

            Even though it hadn’t all been sunshine and smooth sailing.  Even though there had been confusion, and betrayal, and it had hurt so bad that for a time he’d wanted to die, Hatano had been able to survive it all.  Koumaru Ken never could have.

            “Hatano?”

            Hatano started as Yuuki’s hand settled on his shoulder.  “Sorry.  What were you saying?”

            “Are you alright?” asked Yuuki, genuine concern on his face as he regarded his youngest student.

            “Yes.”  Hatano gave Yuuki the smug smile that had become his trademark, and never had that smile felt more real on his face than it did now.  Then he scooted closer and half flopped, half slumped against Yuuki, his coffee sloshing precariously in his mug from the sudden movement, as he affectionately leaned against the older man’s side: something literally no one else in the world dared to do.  “I’ve never been better.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Notes: Once again, this fic was originally published in the free Joker Game fanzine: Double Agent 2 at: <http://i-dedicate-this-kill-to-the-fans.tumblr.com/post/175376116359/double-agent-2-a-joker-game-fanzine-hi-everyone>.  I have another fic in the zine (about Jitsui), but it will be some time before I post it here on AO3, since its chronology takes place later in my aLIvE-verse than the fic I’m currently writing.  There are also fics starring every other spy in the zine, and lots of great artwork.  The zine is formatted as an easy to download pdf file, so check it out if you get the chance. :)


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